


no worth in this endless day

by Background_Character



Series: "I call arson a career!" [5]
Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: (sometimes) unspecified sporadic time skips/hops and pov changes, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Dehydration, Delirium, Fujitaka can use magic, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Reincarnation, all might's confusion has struck again, the desert being sucky in general, the existential clusterfuck clow reed made when he thought it was a good idea to substitute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-16 10:43:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16084505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Character/pseuds/Background_Character
Summary: The sun is unforgiving, but day in and day out, his lost kingdom may still stand and that's all what matters now.





	no worth in this endless day

**Author's Note:**

> Another voice actor inspired reincarnation fic!
> 
> The title comes from a line in Odd Future and it made kind of sense, considering the ridiculous lore CLAMP has crafted throughout their many works and the fact that in Tsubasa... time is a relative thing.
> 
> Damn those alternate timelines and universes.
> 
> (PS: Have you read the tags?)

Dry.  

As far as the eye can see, sand stretches across the land. Unbidden by the light, individual grains dance with the wind and glimmer, blinding the man. 

Hot.

They eat away at his clothes first, loose cloth which he was unceremoniously left with to escape in as the skies imploded with ethereal light many nights beforehand, leaving his skin exposed to the elements. It is harsh, it is cruel, and as parched as his throat may be, this is no place to die.

Burn.

He gasps for breath, once more, taking a step in pace. Slow and unsure, it dredges up more sand into his shoes. Thanks to friction, it begins to irritate, and as much as he would like to rid himself of the feeling, it would only do him more pain than good. Heated by the sun, the sand beneath his feet is the solid equivalent of lava. He would not recover for days without help if he removed his shoes, even if only for a little while. So he persists. That is the only thing he can do for himself now.

Water.

Unfortunately, no matter how long these lands have been home, there is no doubting they are dangerous.

On more than serveral occasions has he had to raise arms, calling down the Heaven's divine strikes to cackle in an instance, shedding unnecessary blood. It sickens him greatly. Bandits might be the greatest threat in the desert, but at their core, they are the kindest of people, and it pains the man.

For his own gain, such people must be culled like cattle of a farm.

Dizzy.

How long?

How long?

How long?

Too long.

Where is he?

This isn't Clow.

This is... nowhere.

Weep the man does. Mourning with dried up tears, for what is left in his mortal body has been expended.

There is no hope left; alone he has been without familiar company for too long. He hears their voices in his head. _Come with us_ , they whisper cruelly. Too long. Quiet, silent. What does his voice even sound like after a length of time with no usage? It must not exist any longer, because when he tries to sing the notes of his people, nothing comes out. Just air passing through like every waking moment. Soundless and useless without meaning.

Weary he must look to an outsider. Haggard, even. 

The most unideal image of man hailed as a godsend by whisper of the tongue.

He wonders if everyone is still alive.

Surely, they must be. Forged by hardship and sharpened by conflict, it must not be easy to fell the people he once led to for glory and civil peace.

Smile.

He tells himself they must be fine.

The sun is unforgiving, but day in and day out, his lost kingdom may still stand and that's all what matters now.

His return must be swift. Unyielding, a ghost of the king of lands on which the remnants of ancient Tokyo once stood wanders further into the desert sand, his hands outreached as if to reach the stars for their blessings.

And may it be their guidance he receives in return.

 

* * *

 

The dreams starts when he is young.

In them, he's older, taller, more frail. There are two—no, that isn't right—there are _four_ children dancing in and out from between his legs with two older boys off to the side.

There's Sakura, his daughter, Syaoran, his son, Sakura, his other daughter, Syaoran, his other son, Touya, his eldest child and Yukito, Touya's only friend and a young priest in training. The laughter of the four children is light and bubbly, lighting up even the darkest corners of the palace as they scramble about, down the grand flight of stairs and out the front gates, and not-him calls a warning out, "Be careful not to get lost!"

Touya scoffs. "The sun has barely risen, Father. They'll be back for dinner by sun down."

With a shake of his head, not-him, the strange man who owns not a single mirror to see his face clearly, sighs softly. "Perhaps, my son. But they are young. The darkness is always... watching."

And the dreams cut off by that point.

Leaving him a sprawled-out mess on the floor whist Makoto screeches into his ears.

The alarm clock is squished in his fist.

Outside, birds sing and fly as free as the wind.

 

•

 

Growing up for the second _(third, fourth, fifth, seventh, tenth, hundredth, thousandth? Losing count of his little girls' birthday is distressing)_ time is strange.

He tells himself that's to be expected. He hadn't asked for any of this, for another chance, yet here he is. Breathing, blinking, thinking; being human again after eons of being nothing is a slow process. Sometimes it's enough to the point that the children ask him if he's alright and any of them would be willing to call a teacher over. He tells them he is fine.

And like the obedient children they are, the moment is forgotten quickly.

Alone he stands, looking upward. "The clouds are nice today," he says to himself.

He races to catch up with the rest of the kids, hoping to be part of the new game of tag they've started up amongst themselves.

The heat might be sweltering and sticky, but the young boy's used to temperatures far higher.

 

(Adults ask if that's his Quirk when his parents are called in, but the two of them glance at each other, confused, before denying the claim. Their son has a Quirk like the father's, it only manifested a week ago. They've used the time since then to analyse its properties before deciding to formally register it in the national system.

Heat resistance has never run in the family before.)

 

•

 

There's something about her brother Makoto can't quite put her finger on these days. He went to sleep one night and woke up with a different heartbeat, that, she could tell. 

No longer did it jump about when he talked to her or their parents in close contact. It spikes for a second before quelling into a serene rhythm, benefiting of honest adults or those who know how to lie properly.

She narrows her eyes, finishing jotting down the last of today's observations of her big brother in the bright sparkly notebook he got for her birthday last month. It's red, blue and white, the colours of All Might, and she doesn't understand how a boy like him cannot show a shred of interest in the new hero. "I only brought it because you like him and it was on sale," he reasoned when questioned, turning his back to her as he continues his homework.

Liar. The real first of many to come that's she's only managed to catch because her hand was on his shoulder and she was leaning over.

It happens.

It's been a while since then.

She hasn't noticed any other change.

Maybe it's time to put the limited edition notebook down and go look out for a real story, a case that'll get people's blood pumping.

 

•

 

Having a sibling is a new experience for him.

The ruler before him had been the younger half of a pair, just by a few seconds. According to history, civil war almost tore the kingdom into two when their sire passed and left no will on who was to be next on the throne, a tragedy, yes, but utterly foolish. Had the late king been a bit more initiative, things might've been different and he wouldn't have grown up an only child, privy to the whispers of treachery and disapproval. 

Maybe that is why the start of his reign had been warmly ushered in, for the people could see their former crown prince

Maybe that is why he had two— _five_ children of his own and made it clear his eldest would be heir apparent until he fell.

Makoto is a wonder in itself because she's nothing like the children he raised, yet at the same time, he can see the scrutiny from Touya in her eyes and the childish curiosity from Sakura in his little sister's actions. The only thing he sees in her that reminds him of Syaoran is the thirst for knowledge and isn't that a frightening prospect. 

 

•

 

The thing that probably makes Naomasa the most apprehensive of being Fujitaka _(and being a king, a husband, a father, a corpse, dead, dead, dead, dead)_ and Fujitaka being him is the clash of personalities.

When he was younger, it was easier to slip up and mix the two together, but getting older changes things. He wants to be different; he refuses to live in the shadow of a man supposed to be long dead. Leadership tasks offered to him are refused, a thrum of quiet disappointment from the man runs through, and he pushes through school. His grades aren't top rate, just falling short of what he can truly do, tired of expectancy and praise. In today's world there is no use of either for him. There are others who can fulfill those roles just as well.

He hadn't disliked being the monarchy of the kingdom, it had only made him restless that due to old tradition he was barred from mingling with the common people often, forcing him to sit higher than them when they could be equals if an audience was requested of him.

Fujitaka is calm.

Naomasa is not.

Fujitaka takes long to deliberate.

Naomasa is quick on his feet.

Together, they decide heroism is a great headache and then some.

Turning away from the heavily crowded booth, he approaches one of the more modest tables and pulls his lips into a wry smile.

"Do accept lie detectors in the force?" he asks.

Hopefully there won't be paperwork involved.

 

(Toshinori watches in amusement as his new friend eyes the towers scornfully.

"Are you serious." Tsukauchi sounds a bit on the verge of hysteria. Which isn't worrying in the slightest.

"I am."

"Heroes! The lot of them!" hisses the detective. "Ignorant pricks who dare neglect their lawful duties when they could oh, so easily send out a sidekick to deal with the danger? What the hell did they teach you in school, Yagi? How to flambe people?"

"Actually, only Endeavor—"

"Shoo. I've got my work cut out for me, supposedly... Now and then..."

Despite what he says... half the time, Toshinori knows all it will be gone by sun down, and like a man possessed, Tsukauchi will be back at work the next day as if he didn't file every other record Toshinori has never the time for since Nighteye ended their partnership. Things are beginning to look up. For the better or worse doesn't matter.)

 

* * *

 

He tells you.

He says you are unneeded here. Everyone's forgotten about you. A rift in space, he had said there was no other way. Sorry. A useless apology. Sorry doesn't cut it; doesn't even come close to sounding sincere. That's your son there, clinging onto his robes like he is the real child of that liar. Liar, liar, liar. You scream in his face, lashing out with power, calling upon whatever is still yours by proxy even if you no longer exist according to the ways of the universe.

He tells you your behaviour is unbecoming of royalty.

And you laugh.

Royalty?

Thanks to him, the kingdom you've shed blood and tears for has been for naught.

Thanks to him, your own son and daughter recognise you as a stranger.

And it hurts.

Royalty this, royalty that. 

If he's so hung up about that then why is he here?

This had nothing to do with him.

If so chose to do, he could have turned a blind eye and let the messes of what has happened once happen again. If he cared enough to take your place, then why? Why does he care. He's just an overseer. He doesn't have to care about anything. He doesn't have to be here. He can be back doing whatever he was doing before you came back. He could burn to death for all you cared and you wouldn't flinch. Never. He doesn't deserve your pity; doesn't deserve the ending you know he's been craving since the dawn of time. He doesn't deserve any of this.

Illogical, you call it. Reasonable, he counters.

"Guide him, my friend" he sighs, already turning on his heel with a flourish of his cloak.

"Him?" you hiss in confusion. He just said you have no connection here, what could this madman be going on about now?

Clow Reed is only gracious enough to spare you the view of his eyes travelling beyond your form. "Who else? Your son, of course."

It only makes you want to let loose your voice once more. The sound burns at your throat like the sand, but in the very least, you can twist your words into poison. And then he's gone. 

The throne room empties out. The current king of Clow, his entire guard detail, entourage of court servants and ~~your~~ his children, young Prince Touya and Princess Sakura, leave you to bask in the muted silence. Unsure footsteps, so much like yours when they sunk into the sand and out of it with each breath, approach from behind. A timid beat of both elevation and caution so soft that's it hard to hear. Curious, but hesitant nonetheless, you turn around.

"You," you breathe out, "are you my son?"

"Father?" The boy's eyes (nothing like yours, you noted, yet still starlit—with an oddity you sense has ties to more sinister strings) are wide with fear.

Whose child is this?

Yours?

Surely not.

This child isn't Tsubasa. He's gone. A figment for a future perhaps destined for a story more tragic.

This child isn't even close, despite whose image he is carved out of. 

_He looks so much like..._

Be brave.

This is no time to cry. 

"Syaoran," you call. It's a name you'd never thought you'd have to utter. His name is Syaoran. Sakura _(not the princess, not your daughter)_ , as it seems, is unoriginal with names. No matter when or where she is, that girl hasn't changed in the slightest. You wonder if she even realises what pain she's caused you, over and over again.

She is cruel.

> _"Let's go home."_

**Author's Note:**

> So the voice actors for Fujitaka are different people in Cardcaptor Sakura and Tsubasa. The man behind him as his Tsubasa incarnation (thank you, CLAMP, for the confusion) is Kawashima Tokuyoshi, who also plays Tsukauchi Naomasa in the BnHA anime.
> 
> Funnily enough, even though Naomasa's canonically younger, the voice actor of Yagi Toshinori/All Might, Miyake Kenta, is younger than Kawashima by a couple of years in real life.
> 
> ... You discover random things by searching the internet.
> 
> •
> 
> As a fan of both the canon manga and it's vigilante spin-off, I adore the Tsukauchi siblings.
> 
> •
> 
> This was born from my nostalgia of Tsubasa. Purely.


End file.
